


Until the End of Time

by YourPalYourBuddy



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (again not a major part but it happens and that's why the title is what it is), Bucky learns about Beyoncé, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Snapshots, Tony has a role but he's not there for every scene, also there's a hockey au in the works from this, and the Clint/Laura relationship is in this fic it's just not a main focus, fluff and some mild mild mild angst, honestly anyone other than Steve Bucky Nat and Sam are pretty background, maybe we'll see, neither is Tony's and Pepper's, some pining Clint for a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/pseuds/YourPalYourBuddy
Summary: You’re catching up on the world together, you and Steve. At the kitchen table, with Natasha in the living room, with Sam and YouTube at the ready, so much information right at your fingertips. A lot of history you don’t know, so you walk around your shared apartment with headphones in and Beyoncé in your head.A lot of history you do, though, so you shudder on those days when Steve’s sweaters aren’t warm enough to keep those memories away. But then they hug you, all three of them, and all of them together are enough. More than enough.“It wasn’t your fault, Buck,” Steve says sleepily in your shared bed at night, and there are nights when you believe him._________Multiple snapshots from Bucky's perspective post Captain America: Civil War. Domestic Stucky.





	

You’re catching up on the world together, you and Steve. At the kitchen table, with Natasha in the living room, with Sam and YouTube at the ready, so much information right at your fingertips. A lot of history you don’t know, so you walk around your shared apartment with headphones in and Beyoncé in your head.

A lot of history you do, though, so you shudder on those days when Steve’s sweaters aren’t warm enough to keep those memories away. But then they hug you, all three of them, and all of them together are enough. More than enough.

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck,” Steve says sleepily in your shared bed at night, and there are nights when you believe him.

You learn about Beyoncé and about yourself from Nat’s memories of the Red Room, when you’re both okay to talk about it. Sam tells you about his time in the military and about his older sister who used to make cupcakes for his preschool class when he was five and then you all go out and have some, and then you make so much frosting later trying to replicate the recipe that your stomach is heavy and uncomfortable for a few days after, supersoldier or not.

______

 

“Did it hurt?” Tony says finally, after some months. You’re eating with him at an Italian restaurant and Steve, Nat, and Sam are suddenly tense. “I didn’t mean,” he says, “to shoot it off.”

“Wasn’t too bad,” you shrug, even though it was. But Steve knows you best of all of them so it’s his hand that squeezes yours under the table.

Tony clears his throat. “I’m making some modifications at my lab. It won’t be the same, but if you’re willing to give it a try—”

Out of habit a part of you is wondering what his motives are. But the majority thinks this is his way of apologizing, so you smile and finish your ravioli.

______

 

Nat takes you ice skating when Steve goes in for an eval after an op that went south and she’s surprised when you skate circles around her. You’re laughing and you think, maybe, this is what it felt like at Coney Island.

“When’d you learn that?” she asks, coming to a perfect stop. “That backwards crossover.”

You shrug, grinning. “Steve’s mom made us these strap on blades when we were younger,” you say. “Tuesdays when it was cold enough, those were practice days. We were going to the Olympics, one day.”

“Still could,” Nat observes. She’s giving you a smile she usually saves for Steve and it feels something fragile in your hands, but you like it. Nat’s got a smile that makes you want to earn it, like Steve’s laugh, and you’re happy suddenly that he had her for as long as he did.

You’re wearing hockey skates and so is she, so when a group of late twenty-year-olds start talking smack you both borrow sticks and, two-on-six, three arms on twelve, wipe the ice with them. The older one sheepishly asks you both to join their team, and practices are Tuesdays. Maria Hill joins you when she’s off work and a better defenseman you couldn’t ask for.

______

 

When it’s very, very bad, Steve pulls you close to his chest and it’s a sharp reminder that things aren’t the way they used to be. He’s bigger and stronger and there are so many more hills and valleys and strokes of muscles that didn’t use to be there.

These thoughts aren’t ones that help either because it reminds you of how it used to be, how bright and hopeful that exhibition was

_Where are we going?_

_The future._

and those are the times that you almost wish you could go back and stop it, stop all of it, burn that draft card and buy Steve watercolors and be whole again.

Usually when Steve says, “It wasn’t your fault, Buck” the nightmare ends and you can rest easy on his words instead. When it’s very, very, very bad, like tonight, Steve helps you to the couch and you nest into that grey blanket Sam or Clint left ages ago and Steve brings you hot chocolate and you watch _Say Yes to the Dress_ until you fall asleep on the couch.

You wake up the next morning with Steve on the right side of the bed and you wonder again if you’re worth all this, all of him. And he stirs and kisses you and you say something about his morning breath and he hits you gently with a pillow, and you wonder how you could have doubted.

______

 

Sometimes Sam and Nat come over together, and when they do it’s always like they’ve stopped right in the middle of a conversation they don’t want shared. These are the days where they sit just a little too close or a little too far away on the couch, the ones where it’s like their gazes are drawn to each other because the other person is a comfortable sight to see.

These days Steve holds your hand a little tighter and you kiss him a little easier because it’s nice to see, this start of theirs, from where you are now.

Clint shows up later on one of these particular kinds of days and brings popcorn, because you’d forgotten it when buying plums two days ago. And he looks at how Nat’s crinkling her nose at Sam, and at how Sam’s trying not to look pleased at making her smile like that, and at how their thumbs are touching just casually on the couch, and you see him nod to himself.

“I’m glad she’s found someone,” he says in the kitchen later, after you ask. He fiddles with his hearing aid and adds, “Even if it wasn’t me.”

There’s a bit of heartache there that you understand very well. It looks like dark curly hair and red lipstick, so you clap him on the shoulder and he shrugs at himself and at the memory of what could have been.

Steve comes in from the living room with pillow hair and after you tease him he says, “That’s three for _Clueless,_ are you both okay with that?”

“Story of my life,” you say, and Nat calls, “Was that a brainwashing joke?”

______

 

Your first official game is on a Saturday. It’s a little different from the games you and Steve used to play; maintained ice, for one, and real hockey pads for another, and your missing arm for third. You took some of the compensation money and bought yourself a nice pair of skates from the secondhand shop down the road from the rink, so as you step onto the rink now there’s a sensation like flying you didn’t get from the rentals.

It’s a good game; Maria and Nat both score in the second period, which pisses off the other team. Your team is the only coed team in the beer league, and while most teams are easy going, these particular meatheads aren’t. The next faceoff has Nat against some guy twice her size and half her strength, not that he knows, so when he snarks something about her appearance you start counting to five and when she casually decks him at count four you smirk inwardly.

That game has you streaking across the ice to defend your net. Your team pulled your goalie with thirty seconds left, but someone gets off a lucky shot that’s exactly on goal with five seconds to go so you don’t think before diving to block.

Maria shouts the loudest you’ve ever heard her after your team wins the game. “Drinks on me!”

You can’t get drunk, not any more, but you give it your best go with your teammates in the lobby of the rink, and this must be how the stars feel.

______

 

Wednesdays have become your unofficial gym days, and most of the time Steve goes with you when he can. Running is hard now, without your left arm to balance, but you manage. Sometimes you’ll see a vet and there’s a shared moment between the three of you, those three seconds of recognition and appreciation, and the mirror doesn’t reflect you back as harshly as it used to.

Steve notices this too and says, “Huh.”

“‘Huh’ what?” you ask, because you’re curious and because his lips are pretty when he talks.

“Nothin’,” he says with a smile.

“C’mon, what?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “You look—brighter? Happier, recently.”

You take his hand now and kiss it. “You brought all the stupid back,” you say, which doesn’t make sense, not really, but Steve smiles anyway and Beyoncé sings about halos in your ears.

______

 

You all go over to Tony’s for Thanksgiving. It’s sharp here and shiny with too many places to hide, and it’s like Tony if he was turned into a building. The furniture is comfortable though, and there are a lot of those tiny hotdog things that remind you of that ball game you and Steve went to, so it’s not too bad.

It’s a small group. Just family today, Steve said, and it’s a very physical reminder that the relationships here are still swollen and sore. But there’s Wanda helping Rhodey, you think his name is, with the mashed potatoes, while Sam and Nat and Clint take over carving the turkey. That teenager who blocked your punch at the airport keeps texting Steve and Tony with the entire emoji alphabet and you think idly about what you’d do with his powers.

Once dinner’s ready you all stand in a circle around the table and Tony says, “I hate to be accused of being cliché, but let’s go around and say one thing we’re thankful about, shall we?” He takes a long sip of champagne before saying, “Steve, why don’t you start.”

“Family,” Steve says, like you knew he would. “Family and being here, all of us, together.”

There’s a pause here where you gesture for Nat to go next. There are, you think, too many thoughts in your head.

She says, “Birds,” and Sam grins.

“Spiders,” Sam says next.

You notice Clint trying not to notice that and he says, “For Nathaniel finally sleeping through the night, and for going home after this.”

“For Tony Stank,” Rhodey says, “and his fancy walking tech.”

“‘Fancy walking tech’? That only cost, what, three million—”

“For all of us being here together,” Vision cuts in. You think that’s his name, anyway. Tony looks slightly abashed as he motions for Wanda to go next.

“The fact that you all will be having actual paprikash,” she says.

And now they’re all looking at you, and your hand finds Steve’s without thinking. “Remembering,” you say around the catch in your voice. There’s a roomful of people now who are on your side, you’re just realizing this, and it’s sticking heavy in your throat. You’re beyond grateful when everyone trails through the kitchen like it’s a buffet line because the only person looking at you is Steve, and there’s a bit of green in his eyes, and it grounds you.

Halfway your third lazy helping of stuffing, your head in Steve’s lap and his fingers in your hair, there’s a commotion by the staircase. You’re torn between sitting up and looking and the knowledge that doing so will dislodge his hand from your hair.

“What is it?” you ask.

Steve says, “Pepper,” and his eyes are so hopeful you want to kiss him.

Instead: “Who?”

“Tony’s girlfriend. Or ex? I’m not sure, exactly, what they are to each other—”

There’s a sudden whooping coming from the stairs. You smile. “Bet I know,” you say, and sit up, and there they are kissing, and there you are right.

“Hey, Tony!” Steve calls. You settle back into his lap and feel him say, “You never said what you’re thankful for.”

Tony says, “You’re right, Cap. I’ve never been good with words—”

Someone says, “Bullshit.” You think it’s Sam, or Clint.

“—more of an action guy, so here—”

There’s more cheers, and the building feels a little more complete somehow. As if Pepper were a brick missing from the foundation. Steve looks down at you and squeezes your hand.

______

 

Tony calls in from the lab one Tuesday after practice.

“James?” he says when you pick up.

“There’s no one by that name at this residence,” you say, and Steve looks up from doodling.

“Who is it, Buck?” he asks, and you mouth _Tony_. He nods and goes back to his drawing.

“Fine, Bucky. Whatever. This is Tony.”

You say, “I know. Steve and Nat showed me caller ID a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” Tony says, sounding intrigued. “I come up on caller ID? I thought I’d blocked that.”

“Guess not.”

“Huh. Well. I’m calling because I’ve finished up your brand spanking new arm, if you want to come give it a test drive.”

You must have gone pale because Steve drops his pen and comes to you, nearly knocking over the kitchen chair and table and lamp. He’s taking your face in his hands but you haven’t been this strong in ages. You shake your head and he slowly backs away.

“What time?” you say into the phone.

______

 

You’re lying down on a table and Tony says something about sensors in your brain connecting to those in your arm and now you’re angry, because there once was a version of you that would have been so, so thrilled to be here but you don’t know where he is anymore.

“He’ll be okay?” Steve asks in a low voice. His eyebrows are doing the pinching thing they do when he’s worried. You motion him to come over and he does, leaning, and you rub those furrows from his face. He turns his head and kisses your palm and you smile reassuringly.

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “Tony knows what he’s doing. I think.”

Tony scoffs. “If you weren’t obviously trying to calm down your superhero boyfriend I’d be offended by that. As it is,” he says, reaching for a group of shiny metal tools that look like glorified screwdrivers and pliers, “all I’m doing is reattaching an arm that should connect with the sensors already in his mind. I’m not a brain surgeon—I mean I could be, probably wouldn’t even be too hard actually, I’ll look into that—what I mean is. It’s just a mechanics thing, Steve. Like fine-tuning a motorcycle.”

You make a _see?_ face at Steve. He rubs his temples.

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him. You ask Tony, “You’re putting me under, yeah?”

“That’s the plan,” Tony says. He bounces once or twice on his heels. “It’s not necessary per se, but it’s the best precaution in case the arm reacts negatively to the sensors in your mind.”

Steve opens his mouth, eyebrows doing the thing again, but you interrupt him. “I’m ready.”

You sit up and pull Steve close with your one hand and kiss him before lying down and sliding out of consciousness.

______

 

Your unconsciousness is full of Russian and it reminds you, for the first time, of Natasha instead of Hydra.

She’s pulling on your hands and you’re skating across a lake. You’re laughing; she’s said something funny about Sam, and you’re keeping that story close to tease him about it later. You spin around her and she gives you that smile she saves for Steve, and she reminds you of Rebecca.

There’s a swooping noise overhead, but this is your unconsciousness and there’s nothing anymore that can hurt you here. Sam closes his wings and gracefully joins you and Natasha on the ice.

You’re getting tired even in your mind from all this skating. A bench that was not there before is at the banks of the lake, and you skate to it and sit down.

“Hey,” someone says, and it’s Steve and you know this like you know how to breathe. “Hey,” he says again, and he nudges you with his elbow until you move over on the bench.

“Punk,” you say.

You kiss him soft and he tastes like hot chocolate. “Jerk,” he says, and you feel it against your lips.

______

 

There are still times when you forget about it and instinctively do things with only your right hand. It’s been less frequent than when you first woke up with it, but still. Just today, even, when you were making eggs, you cracked the eggs one-handed.

You’re a little off-balance now. Tony explained this when you first woke up, but no part of you was listening; it was vaguely similar to when you woke up to Hydra and only the Cap Star on your shoulder kept you from cracking.

You and Steve go to the market to check its sensitivity after breakfast. There’s a plum stand, and you buy six.

______

 

Sam and Nat come over together more frequently. This time you all watch _Titanic,_ and Sam and Nat kiss in front of you and Steve for the first time in your living room.

______

 

You invite Clint to practice one Tuesday and neither you nor Nat nor Maria are surprised when he perfects his aim after five minutes on the ice. He doesn’t look at Nat with any sadness anymore.

Maria says, “You should join, Barton.”

Clint shrugs. “I just retired. I need a break from organized teams.”

“Should I tell Laura you’re not doing card night anymore, then?” Nat says. She has a special smile just for him that you haven’t seen before.

“Barton’s just afraid he’s gonna have to fight for the top scoring slot,” you say, leaning on your stick.

He shrugs and raises his eyebrows. “I don’t have any gear.”

“There’s a room around here,” you say, “that has a ton of lost and found gear. We can figure something out for you.”

“Just make sure you’ve got your own skates,” Nat says. “Believe me, rentals are nothing compared to personal skates.”

And that’s how Clint Barton begins his reign as the terror of the beer league. He lasts exactly half a season before being forced to move up to the B league.

______

 

Nat and Sam go with you and the saleslady thinks it’s for Nat. You all laugh hard about this until the woman looks uncomfortable and has someone else help you.

“It’s gorgeous,” Nat says. Sam puts his arm around her waist and they’re glowing, almost.

“He’s a lucky guy,” Sam says, and you exhale.

You say, “Nah, that’s me.”

______

 

There are more good nights than bad now and they go like this:

You shower and shampoo and condition, and your hair’s soft as cotton candy on your shoulders.

Steve comes home from the gym or an assignment or debrief and you two catch up on the world together, if he’s awake enough. Sometimes this means listening to a podcast or watching a hit movie, or rewatching _Star Wars_ for the sixth or seventh or eighth time, or dancing slow to songs that played when you were at war.

Sometimes you’re both too tired so you pull him close when he walks in and stay there a moment, supporting each other. Then if you’re both too tired he showers and you wear your pajamas and you sleepily kiss each other good night.

Sometimes, neither of you are tired, and it takes much, much longer to go to sleep.

Sometimes, on the nights where it takes longer to go to bed, you wonder what would’ve happened if you had told him back then. But he must’ve known that you did, didn’t he; _end of the line._  And he said it too.

This night you have cupcakes in the oven and frosting on the counter and he comes home too early. So that’s how it happens, right there in your kitchen. You’ve got frosting on your shirt and your hands have batter all over them and the ring falls in the frosting bowl and you think he’s about to cry.

You say, “Steve?” and he doesn’t let you finish.

“Wait, just—one second, okay?” and he’s running down the hallway to your bedroom before you can ask. Drawers are clearly scraping open; you hear him curse softly as a lot of somethings clatter to the ground.

And you’re washing the frosting off his ring and he’s back, and he stubs his toe on the table, and you’re ready to try again.

Except, you say “Steve?” and sink to your knee and he doesn’t let you finish.

“Buck?” he says, and then he’s in front of you on his knee and there’s a ring in his hand.

The only thing you can think to say makes you sound like you’re seventeen again and it’s not because your voice is choking up. It’s not only because your voice is choking up. “I asked first.”

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right, you did,” Steve says, and you love him. He presses fingertips to the corners of his eyes. “You’re right, I—go for it?”

“That’s the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” you say. He laughs in a helpless sort of way.

“Steve Rogers,” you say, “will you marry me?”

He nods slowly, clearly steeling himself. “My turn?”

“I’d be grateful if you answered first, being perfectly honest.”

“I did, I nodded—”

You say, “We’re going to be that couple that argues in the grocery store about what kind of peanut butter to buy, aren’t we?” Steve laughs again.

“Probably.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Yes, Buck, of course. Yes I’ll marry you.”

And you are so, so relieved. Not like you were expecting anything else, and yet. You slide the ring on his finger, and he kisses you lightly.

“Now is it my turn?”

You give him a _go on_ gesture.

“Bucky Barnes. You’re a wish I never thought to hope to ask for. I wonder, now and then—I think about back then, what could have been, and I don’t know, Buck, I don’t know; obviously there are things I’d change, but I’m so, so happy to be here with you.”

You’re crying, there’s a tear on your nose. “Is this a competition? Who can come up with the best proposal speech?”

“Hey,” Steve says. “I didn’t rush you.”

“Fine, go on. Woo me.”

He rolls his eyes tearily. “I’m almost done, I just—Bucky, will you marry me?”

You say, “Yes,” and he moves to put the ring on the wrong hand. “Wait, I want to feel it,” you say. He cries more at that and slides it on your right hand.

“It’s perfect,” you both say, and he is so beautiful.

“Until the end of time,” you say.

He gives you a _look_. “Did you just. Quote Beyoncé?”

“Shh,” you say. “Might have.”

“Jerk.” He brushes your cheek with his thumb.

You lean closer. “Punk.”

You feel his ring on your face and his smile on your lips when you kiss him, and he tastes like frosting.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: @ivecarvedawoodenheart or @untiltheendofthelinebuck, come say hi!  
> I'm posting ahead of myself but this is for @iamnotsebastianstan's Soft Stucky Week; check out her blog for more things, this is happening Dec. 17-23rd (2016).


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